Desiring Life

Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?

YMCA Camp: Da Bomb

ymca-camp1The rays of summer touched my face as if to say goodbye as September said hello to fall.  I stood in the middle of a YMCA camp ready for a nap after a long day of retreat.  Well, retreat for the flock of scholars that I ran after all day.  Rock climbing, inner tubing on the lake, peanut butter crackers, Jersey Mike’s, and swimming had filled the agenda.  My body told me it needed a nap, though I knew that falling asleep on a bus surrounded by adolescents with camera phones and Facebook access at home was not in my best interest.

I stood watching the swarm of students exit the pool area as the buses cranked up.  An odd mixture of exhaust mixed with the aroma of chlorine.  The students trekked across the large open field screaming and shouting about the day, jockeying for claimed seats on the bus and remarking about who lost in games of chicken in the pool.  One boy stole my attention.  He walked tall, all of four feet.  His towel wrapped around the lower part of his face and covered the back of his head, leaving just enough room for his eyes to peek through: an authentic Middle Tennessee private school homemade turban.  He had his backpack strapped to the front of his chest, intentionally backward.  He walked with his hands outstretched to the heavens he was about to join while shouting in a poor Middle Eastern accent, “I HAVE ZEE BOMB!  I HAVE ZEE BOMB!”

Speechlessness answered my attempt to explain the line between reality and hilarity.  As I picked my jaw up off the ground and wiped the tears from my eyes, I poorly explained to him, “Jimmy, Jimmy.  You just can’t do that, Jimmy, you just can’t do that.”


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